Caught
by sydneysages
Summary: Sam Strachan has always put the patients first - well, except for the past few months, where he's turned into a bureaucratic overlord. But now he's caught between who he is, and who he's become. And can he ever win a war against Connie Beauchamp? /A Retelling of the last episode, It Had To Be You, S31 E39, from Sam's POV. Vaguely Strachamp, though nothing definitive


This is a retelling of the last episode (It Had To Be You, S31 E39), but from Sam's POV. As we've all seen the episode, I've only directly quoted a few times, and might have used a little artistic license with some of the dialogue, but I hope it's close enough.

... denotes a scene change; . denotes a scene break (as in it's within the same scene but with just a slightly different focus)

* * *

The day of the consultants' interviews arrives, and Sam Strachan turns up to Holby City Hospital earlier than normal, keen to get the day started. All he wants is for it to be over – for he's beginning to wish that he never proposed the suggestion of cutting a consultant.

Whilst it's no cardiothoracic ward (and he continues to struggle with why _Connie Beauchamp_ left behind all the prestige associated with her name in their field), the work that the ED does is more complex than he had previously envisioned. It's important in its own way, and it probably does need the three consultants it has. But it's too late to cancel the proceedings now: he's told the Board that he'll make the necessary cuts. He has no choice.

(He always has a choice.)

It's been an interesting few months, he'll admit that. The setting is so different – and yet so similar – to everything he's known as a surgeon: at the end of the day, they're saving lives, just in a different way. And he's _missed_ that more than he knows how to put into words. The status of Medical Director is all well and good, but the one time he went near a patient he contributed to their death (not that he'll ever admit this of course), and pencil pushing isn't why he went into medicine.

In all honesty, he's become everything he hated about his Darwin Clinical Lead, except worse, because at least she still practiced medicine more than she entertained the bureaucracy. And now, down here, she has even more disdain for the back-scratching and undermining nature of the scramble for power than previously.

 _Bollocks_ , he thinks as he makes his way up towards the entrance to the ED, _I need to get her out of my head_.

And then, as if the universe is out to get him, he hears his name being called by the one person he wanted to avoid for as long as possible today.

Connie Beauchamp.

"Sam," she calls again, and he can tell she won't give up.

So he puts on his best game face and prepares for war, all guns blazing, because Connie is the only person who can beat him now.

(He almost regrets it when he realises that she only wants to talk about Grace, but not quite, because Connie Beauchamp is outstanding at many things, but accepting co-parenting is not one of them.)

…

By the time he's ready for his first interview, all doubt is gone from Sam's mind. _This_ is the priority: if he can get the consultants' wage budget under control, he can sort this place out. There's no place for sympathy in a job interview, something he's learnt the hard way.

He decided to begin with Doctor Chao because, truth be told, he doesn't think that he can justify employing her as one of only two consultants. The main reason he chose her is because he wanted to rattle Connie's cage, to make her worry that someone younger and almost as dedicated could steal her perch.

That was silly though, because nothing can rattle Connie Beauchamp, and he _really_ wishes he could stop making everything about her.

She's the most infuriating woman he's ever met, because no matter how many flaws he picks, he always manages to make them into a quality by the end of the day. It's why he was glad they had such little contact for eight years, because he could get her out of his mind.

Sam manages to shake himself out of thinking about anything other than the consultants' interviews by the knock at the door. Doctor Chao, for her interview.

"Come in," he calls from behind Connie's desk, keeping his tone as stern as possible.

Lily enters, her posture exuding less confidence than he would have expected, and she closes the door gently.

"Take a seat," he says, gesturing to the empty seat in front of his desk. Picking up her CV, he reads over the front page again: yet another interview technique he learnt from the very best. "So, Doctor Chao, are you ready for your first consultant interview?"

She indicates that she is, though Sam's not entirely convinced, and the interview begins.

He asks her about her training and experience, noticing how she glosses over how limited her time as a registrar has been, and then moves onto more difficult questions. When has a new technique helped you to save a patient's life? Have you an example of when you have successfully motivated the team around you?

They're just getting into the nitty gritty when the door opens, and Connie walks in.

Immediately, Lily falls silent, though Connie's gaze doesn't hesitate on its way towards Sam. He stares back, too, though he hopes he does a better job at disguising shock than she does.

Does he believe that she didn't receive the memo? Probably, otherwise this would appear a lot more staged; not even Connie's _that_ good of an actress.

It's only as she looks like she's on her way out that she notices Lily sitting there, and he winces internally as Lily admits that she's interviewing for the consultant position.

If looks could kill, the glare Connie shoots at him would have floored him ten times over.

(And the " _are you_?" directed at Lily would have floored him another ten times. Because Connie Beauchamp is terrifying if you're on her bad side.)

She leaves, much less dramatically than he would have expected, and this makes him nervous. Her revenge is on its way; he can feel it.

…

It takes less time than he thought – they're not anywhere near done with the interview, though Sam's already well aware that Lily will _not_ be one of his two choices – before Connie's back, storming into the office.

The irritation on his face is real, and he can feel his blood beginning to boil for who is _she_ to interrupt _his_ interview process?

And who is she to take his candidate before he decides that the interview is over?

He begins to protest, before she asks him if he wants to be remembered as the medical director who threatened lives, and then he stops. Because the only reputation he wants around here is as a successful surgeon, not as any form of inept Medical Director.

So Sam follows through, hot on Connie's heels all the way to resus, where he's greeted by a surprising committee: three consultants, a registrar, and a junior doctor.

Connie's evidently making a point, and he's the intended target.

"Do we all need to be here?" Someone – Elle – asks, and Sam thanks everything holy that _someone_ in here has some sense.

Because he's furious and, right now, he's willing to make the decision to sack Connie Beauchamp in front of everyone.

" _No_ ," Sam responds, emphatically, just as Connie says, "yes."

He looks at her, every muscle of his face contracted to show as much frustration as possible, and just about manages to bite his tongue.

"Sorry, Connie, we've got one, two, three consultants, a registrar, a junior doctor…" Dylan begins to speak, and Sam thanks his lucky stars that _one_ of the consultants is actually able to see sense.

Then he points to Sam, adds "one of those," and Sam can't help but be surprised. Dylan's never been his biggest fan – dumping his phone into a drink proved that – but he didn't think that the consultant would make his disapproval so obvious.

"Just so you know, we are not _pawns_ in your game of thrones," Dylan continues further and, besides for his casual insult, Sam has to agree with him. At least someone in this place talks some sense.

Most of the doctors walk out, Connie powerless to stop them, but as they walk, it brings something to Sam's mind.

 _One of those_.

In this room, in this department – hell, even in this hospital – Sam isn't anything other than a symbol of the bureaucracy. A former doctor, he left his stethoscope hanging in the wardrobe in his New York apartment, and swapped it for a pen and a calculator.

 _It isn't your fault_ , he insists to himself as he stands there, but he can't even convince himself. He wanted the power, and he got it.

He's just had to sacrifice the actual medicine.

…

The spatter of blood on his (brand new) shirt doesn't help his mood, but spending time with the patient's brother, Darren, reminds Sam of exactly why he wanted to go into medicine. He's vulnerable, exactly the sort of person who activates something inside of Sam, and maybe Sam's involvement in this case can help him.

(At the same time, it helps Sam reawaken his priorities, not that he's willing to admit it yet.)

Connie, however, does nothing to improve Sam's mood. She's rude, abrasive, and authoritative – and doesn't back down from him. She tells him to move and, unfortunately, he moves. There's only so far she can take it, surely? After all, at the end of the day, she's not going to risk her job over it…

Then again, maybe she will. He's never quite been able to make out her twisted loyalties, anyway.

After Darren, it's Dylan, and the mood turns sombre in Connie's office. Well, first there's a heavy cloud of exasperation in the air, as Dylan insists on giving the equivalent of one word answers.

And then he questions whether or not he's even fit to _be_ a consultant, before walking out.

It takes Sam a good few minutes to gather his muddled thoughts after Dylan's departure. The raw, aching grief at the loss of a colleague is one thing – but the impact it had on Dylan, the doctor who failed to save one of the most important patients, is another. It throws another spanner in the works about what a good consultant should be, particularly for the ED: indeed, _is_ there a particular model of consultant that even works?

Suddenly, Sam's questioning everything and nothing at the same time, because nothing really makes sense anymore. Up until last week, he was certain that this was the only course of action.

But maybe it isn't.

Maybe he can save all of the consultants.

And yet, at the same time, he thinks, _what is it to me?_ At the end of the day, they're all numbers on pieces of paper – even him. They're all just component parts of the NHS, all of whom can be replaced on a whim.

So why does he care so much about _this_ ED?

(It certainly, absolutely, _definitely_ isn't to do with the Clinical Lead, he's trying to convince himself.)

…

And then, all of his self-sacrificing thoughts are gone, and he's determined to find a way to show Connie Beauchamp that she doesn't hold the power.

There's a multitude of emotions swilling underneath the surface as Connie enters her office ten minutes later than the agreed interview time (though why is he even surprised?), and engrossed in her phone.

She doesn't introduce herself – perhaps understandable – but doesn't acknowledge him either; indeed, the only concession she makes to the fact that this isn't just a normal day is that she doesn't try and sit in her chair. Though she considers it; he can see the thought pop into her head, and smiles as she decides against it. Evidently even Connie has _some_ sense.

"Are you even going to _try_ and answer the question?" Sam asks through gritted teeth, exasperated to the core. He's doing his best to make sure that she's the best candidate for the job on paper, so that people can't just say that he kept her as Clinical Lead because she's the mother of his child, but it's as if she wants to lose her job! She's fighting him, keeping raising the stakes as he meets her, and she doesn't seem to care about the consequences. Just _what_ is she expecting to gain through acting like a child…like Grace?

It's as if their never ending personal warfare that they've engaged in almost since the day she hired him has spiralled over into the ED, and in full force. She's openly suggesting that he's not fit for his position, and is intent on undermining him in every way possible.

And yet, strangely, he doesn't hate it.

He likes it.

Though that's by the by, and he's determined not to let his personal views of Connie Beauchamp influence his decision about her ability to run a department.

Unfortunately, though, she's not going to let him. Now that she's dropped her phone, she's almost…flirting with him, refusing to break eye contact with him, smiling in a way that only _she_ can. She's unreadable and yet entirely open about what she's thinking at the same time; she's the most infuriating woman in the world, and he wishes she'd leave forever.

(He doesn't.)

He says things he regrets almost immediately and yet, still, she doesn't falter. It's as if she's immune to anything he can say – and maybe she is. She's the only person he's ever known to have a bigger ego than himself.

And then, as if she's planned it, she's flouncing out of the office to treat a patient, and he _has_ to follow, just as he always does, as he always did.

It feels as if they're back in the old days, when he did whatever she wanted (and whatever she didn't want him to do, just to balance it out) and she was always two steps ahead. She made the plans, he challenged her, and then they usually ended up doing what she wanted to anyway: he never had enough of an opportunity to win.

If there's one thing Connie Beauchamp's good for, it's making him realise that all he wants to be is a doctor.

…

Within less than a minute, Sam's standing behind Connie near Darren, the boy from earlier, trying to get involved in his treatment. Connie waves him away, though, so he moves around to the other side.

She follows, and pushes him slightly as she moves closer to the bed, unhooking her stethoscope from around her neck.

"Move," she adds rudely, after she's already passed.

"Need I remind you that I'm your Medical Director? Show some respect!"

It just comes out – he doesn't really _mean_ to say it, but he just can't stop. She's incapable of showing any form of respect for authority figures; he can deal with it in private, but in front of a patient? In front of _Darren_ , the only real patient/relative he's come in contact with since he joined this department? That's too far, even for Connie.

So he lets his temper get the better of him and explodes, and, for a moment, feels better.

He expects her to retaliate. It's what the old Connie would have done: she would have shouted him down, regardless of where they were, and then would have destroyed him later on.

It comes as a surprise that her response comes cool and collected, complete with a shrug at the end.

"Respect? You push a pen and wield an axe. Mr Strachan, you're not fit for purpose." She says it as though it's a fact of nature, no question about it. The lack of anger in her voice – her acceptance of the fact that he's become a bureaucratic boss – confuses him and, in all honesty, hurts him.

For three years, she spent hours berating him for his focus on the patients. _This isn't a private hospital, Mr Strachan, where patients can pay to stay as long as they want. We have more patients to treat. Get that man out of here by the time I'm back._ And now she's essentially telling him that he's become _too_ bureaucratic, too much of what he could never quite do before. The sleazing has become too natural, too much like second nature, and getting involved with patients has taken too much of a backseat.

He doesn't have anything to reply with, no defence he can make, because there is nothing to say. How can he argue with her when she's hit the nail right on the head?

So he takes a deep breath, takes a look at Darren's notes, and then walks out of resus, determined to _finally_ do the right thing.

…

As Sam starts his car, the music blares from his drive to work earlier. He turns it all the way down so that it's just background noise, not able to distract him from his thoughts.

It's a stupid decision because all he wants is to _be_ distracted from his thoughts, but he should probably face his problems every once in a while.

Everything Connie said was right, and simply confirmed the brewing thoughts in his mind for the last couple of weeks: this job isn't for him. He took it for two reasons. Firstly, it meant that he could be in Holby and be with Grace – because Holby's more of a home than New York. But secondly, and perhaps the most important factor, he was thrilled at the prospect of being Connie's boss. Of being able to drop bombshells on _her_ rather than the other way around, to make her do his bidding.

Somewhere along the way from insolent registrar to Medical Director, he lost sight of what his priorities were – what his priorities _are_.

 _This_ , driving through one of the roughest areas of Holby, is the first time he's felt alive at work for weeks.

(Except for arguing with Connie. But that's an entirely different type of being alive.)

He arrives at the address he saw on Darren's card, and takes a deep breath to steel himself before opening his car door. It's been a long time since he did anything like this – not since Jade, he doesn't think – but it feels _right_. It's the first thing he's done that's been for the good of a patient, rather than for purely selfish reasons.

(And yet, to think this, is _this_ selfish? He doesn't know.)

After making sure his car's locked – because, no matter how important this visit is for Darren and for his own self-identity, it's wouldn't be ideal to lose his car – he bangs on the door.

No answer.

Looking through the glass doesn't help him, so he steps gingerly through the long, waterlogged grass, avoiding the bags of rubbish littered across the garden. Looking through this window doesn't offer much of a clue as to whether Lee's inside, but Sam's almost certain that he is. This is their home. And when you're upset, you always run home.

He shouts through the door, hoping to make Lee see sense, to come back to the hospital for Darren, if not for himself.

That doesn't work, so he wonders whether explaining his own story would help. People like to hear that other people are struggling just as much as them, right? Because without that, words of sorrow and understanding wouldn't be empathetic, wouldn't mean as much.

"I have a daughter, Grace. She suffered a brain injury…" he pauses, not sure how to continue. "I look after her. I can't do it by myself—" He hasn't ever really done it by himself, but he's not going to tell Lee about the complicated nature of the Beauchamp-Strachan family "—I need people around me. There are people who can help you. _Both of you_. Just say the word."

He's not sure what works about his story of Grace, but within seconds the front door is open, and Lee's standing right in front of him, willing to accept the help that Sam's offering.

And, for a split second, Sam feels that this is where he belongs.

.

It takes a few minutes, but he finds the source of Darren's illness: antifreeze.

He tries to call Connie, but she doesn't answer. He's not surprised – she probably thinks that it's a pointless call to berate her for her outburst earlier; after all, she doesn't know that he's gone to try and find the source of the problem. She doesn't know that, for the first time in this department, he's taking part in teamwork.

And he can't really blame her for not answering, either. He's not answered her last ten calls, because he knows that they're about Grace – and he'd rather live in a world where Grace thinks that her mother doesn't care enough about her to call.

So he texts.

 _It's antifreeze, I'm certain._

There's no need for more than the critical information. He's never understood the people who add their name to the bottom of a text to someone who already has their number saved, and anyway, typing those additional characters could be the difference between getting Darren the antidote in time.

Within minutes, he's back in the car, with Lee in the passenger side, and he's apologising for the mess Grace has left in the door pocket, before they begin their journey back to the hospital.

"You're some sort of boss man, right?" Lee asks Sam suddenly, when they're almost back at the hospital. It's the first time either of them have spoken since they set off.

Grimacing, Sam replies. "I guess so."

"But this isn't your job, is it? You're not meant to go and investigate what's up with someone like Darren?"

Sam takes a minute to reply, pretending to be very focused on making sure that he indicates properly as he takes the first turning of two towards the ED.

"No, I'm not," he agrees, training his eyes on the road in front of him. "But I worked here a few years ago, and this is the sort of thing I would have done then. And that's the sort of person I want to be again."

The sort of person who puts the patients – not the numbers – first.

But they've pulled over by the time that Sam finishes talking, and Lee's already rushing into the department before Sam's even got his seatbelt off.

This is a conversation for another time, with another person, anyway.

He hurries into the department, bypassing Noel who seems strangely intent on asking a series of questions about food and last days, and heads into resus just seconds behind Lee.

The look on Connie's face is one that he's going to remember for a thousand days: shocked, confused, but a little bit proud.

Perhaps she can tell that he chose the patient over the power.

"Darren, I need to tell you something," Lee begins talking to his younger brother, his voice gentle.

Then Connie says something that Sam would never have expected, "you don't have to do this, not now."

Sam can't help but take a step back in shock, his head snapping towards Connie. Did she _really_ just say that? It sounded completely unlike the Connie Beauchamp that he's known (and loved) and loathed for ten years. Does she care about something other than paperwork and her own personal prestige?

Maybe he's not the only one who's changed in their time in this department.

He misses most of the conversation between the brothers because his attention is almost wholly focused on Connie, her words running through his mind. _You don't have to do this_. A double entendre perhaps, intended for both Lee and Sam? Or is he reading too far into it, trying to find an excuse to discount all of the good that she's done over the past few hours?

 _How does she do this?_ He thinks, cursing himself. _How can she do it and I can't?_

Then her attention turns from Lee to him, and no matter how much he wants to, Sam can't tear his eyes from Connie. It's almost as if he wants her to know that he's thinking about her.

But that's ridiculous, in more ways than one.

…

It's only as he re-enters Connie's office that he remembers that there was someone he forgot to interview: Doctor Gardner. He had become so focused on the patient that he'd completely forgotten about the essentially pointless interview process he'd instigated. In all honesty, even if he hadn't changed his mind about firing a consultant, he'd have probably chosen Connie and Dylan over Elle. Experience is everything to the eagle-eyed Medical Director – even though Connie's salary is probably more than the other two's combined.

But she's gone now, and he's wearing a dirty shirt, and he needs to get changed to try and get back into the mindset of the Medical Director Sam Strachan. To see if there's even a remote chance that he could stay in the role.

Taking a look in the wardrobe in the corner of Connie's office, he realises that he's out of spare shirts. He could have sworn he had two spares, but there's nothing of his left inside – Connie's probably burned it or something, as part of her war against the bureaucracy.

As part of her war against _him_.

Sighing, he grabs the set of scrubs to the far left of the cupboard. Though he probably has some scrubs in the office he usually uses upstairs, he decided that it would be a good idea to have a set down here, too. Connie kicked off more than usual when she discovered them tucked inside her cupboard, but he won for a change. Or maybe she let him. He doesn't know anymore. All he knows is that it was a hollow victory.

He removes his tie first, and then his jacket, setting them both on the sofa. At some point between his departure from England and his return, the NHS decided that it would be a good idea to furnish Clinical Leads' offices with sofas. Or maybe Connie bought this to put her stamp on the department. He wouldn't be surprised.

Then he unbuttons his shirt and sets it on top of his jacket, wondering idly whether it's even worthwhile washing it or if the stain's permanent. Before he's got the scrubs over his head, the door opens, and he turns to see who it is, chest bare.

Slipping the top over his head, he discovers that it's Connie, just as she says, "oh, sorry."

She doesn't sound particularly sorry.

He notices that she averts her eyes for a moment until he's got his shirt straight – why, he's not entirely sure; she's seen a lot more than this before – before she looks back, her expression…flirtatious? Surely not.

"So, when will we find out?"

Sam takes a deep breath before replying. "You win," he concedes. There's no way to phrase it other than to admit defeat: she waged a war, and he lost, big style. Not only did he lose, he went out of his way to make sure that she won.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Nobody's losing their job. I found some money in the budget elsewhere, and just…shifted it."

Connie at least has the decency to look a little nonplussed, keeping her elation under check, as she nods. "Well, I have to say I'm glad you saw common sense," she responds, taking a step closer to Sam.

He could close the gap even further – but that would be dangerous. Too dangerous for today.

"Now, do you want to stay whilst I take my trousers off, too?" Not too dangerous to flirt.

Something flashes across her face and the word that comes closest to describing it is probably _desire_ , but she takes a step back and walks out of the office without another word.

(She does look back, though, and he takes more pleasure in that than he probably should.)

…

He takes a few seconds to compose himself after she leaves, to get rid of the dangerous thoughts which are becoming more and more frequent, before he moves towards Connie's desk. She's left her stethoscope in the office, and his hands hover over it for a moment, contemplating whether this is the right move.

But, in his heart, he knows it is. Being a doctor has always been the most important thing to him, career wise, and he's just committed to this path. In all honesty, he's slightly surprised Connie didn't question where the funding was coming from – but maybe she knew all along.

(No, he decides, she can't have. Not even Connie's _that_ good an actor.)

He picks the stethoscope up in one hand, and picks up the office phone in the other, using the front of his index finger to dial the extension for Hanssen's office. He might as well get this over with now, rather than later.

"Henrik Hanssen, please," he says to the operator, his attention focused on the stethoscope. It's only been four months since he last used one, but it feels like forever.

"No, I'll leave a message," he adds to the operator, when he asks if Sam would like to wait for Mr Hanssen to call him back.

Then, taking a deep breath, he continues, "Henrik, it's Sam. Sorry to drop this on you, but I am tendering my resignation as Medical Director, effective immediately. It's been interesting…"

He hangs up, drops the phone, and takes the stethoscope in both hands. This is his identity again – Mr Sam Strachan, surgeon. Or is it Mr Sam Strachan, doctor? Or Mr Sam Strachan, registrar? Or Mr Sam Strachan, consultant?

Who knows, but Sam finally feels like Holby's his home again.

* * *

I'd appreciate reviews with any of your thoughts after you've read this!


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